by Matt Cowper
Gillespie frowned and looked away. “No, I’ve never heard of this Miasma.”
“Well, so what?” Buckshot said. “So’s you missed that secret government briefing? Why are we trusting this bitch? Lying to us and wasting my hard-earned tax dollars on––”
“That’s enough, all of you,” Nightstriker said, causing everyone to snap to attention. Even Anna’s form turned briefly into a rectangle. “Gillespie, as I said, is simply doing her job. She is tasked with overseeing a powerful – and dangerous – group of superheroes. She has to do – or not do – certain things to ensure none of us become a threat. No one wants a repeat of the Professor Perfection situation. I, however, trust her – if not completely, then enough so that I have no qualms working with her on this mission. I hope that endorsement is good enough for all of you.”
“That doesn’t sound like the old Nightstriker,” Blaze said.
“True,” Nightstriker replied, “but while it is trite to say this, you all have shown me the value of teamwork. Arguing with Gillespie at this point will only jeopardize our mission. We need her skills and resources, and she needs ours. Can we all move on?”
The Elites looked at each other, at Gillespie, at Nightstriker. Gradually they all relaxed. Gillespie gave Nightstriker a nod that said everything that needed to be said between them, and Nightstriker nodded back.
“So, to continue,” Nightstriker said, “Miasma was a superhuman that lived from roughly 1770 to––”
“1770?!” Metal Gal said. “What the hell?!”
“This is shocking, I know,” Nightstriker said. “Some superhumans lived even before that time, actually. Certain intellectuals on the fringe even suggest that great men such as Alexander the Great were superhuman. You may have heard these speculations on internet forums and such places. There is no concrete evidence that superhumans existed that far back, though. Miasma, however, most definitely existed between roughly 1770 and 1810. During that time, he killed hundreds, perhaps thousands.”
“This is blowing my mind,” Slab said. “How do you know all this?”
“As I told Gillespie, I’ll keep my methods to myself,” Nightstriker said. “What’s important is that Miasma was extremely powerful – and, judging from contemporary accounts, he was what we now call a white supremacist. He used his gaseous form to murder hundreds in southeast Asia, all in the name of racial purity. He would have wiped out most of the world, had he not been stopped by a mysterious hero named the Wanderer. Even I have learned little about him, save that he was skilled at disabling dangerous superhumans.”
“I’ve heard of the Wanderer, but I know little besides his name and a few of his exploits,” Gillespie put in. “The Wanderer enjoyed being elusive. We only know about him from scraps of writing that have somehow survived confiscation or destruction – and, as I said, even I haven’t heard of this Miasma threat.”
“Yes, the Wanderer is a conundrum I’ve spent years trying to solve – but I digress,” Nightstriker said. “Our concern now is Anna. Anna, the Giftgiver’s powers gave you Miasma’s abilites, didn’t they?”
Again, the smoke whipped about. Finally Anna spoke: “How did you know?”
“A hunch,” Nightstriker said. “Everyone has already analyzed your form and cross-referenced the numbers with the databases available to them, and have come up with nothing. There are several gaseous forms that aren’t in those databases, so I mentioned Miasma, hoping for a reaction. You did react, which told me everything.”
A long pause.
“You really are as smart as they say,” Anna said.
“That’s why he’s the boss,” Buckshot said.
“I’d like to know how, exactly, you’ve learned about Miasma,” Nightstriker asked Anna. “This is what the Giftgiver’s powers targeted when he used his powers, correct?”
“Yes,” Anna said softly. “I have…I have Miasma’s abilities now.”
“As we’ve been discussing, this knowledge has either been subsumed into legend, destroyed, or locked up in forgotten vaults,” Nightstriker said. “If it’s difficult for me to acquire, I have little idea how you came to know it.”
The smoke within the cylinder separated into a dozen small clouds. Then, after a moment, they all reformed.
“Miasma was…was my ancestor,” Anna said.
“What…the…fuck?” Buckshot whispered.
“That’s impossible,” Gillespie said, though she caught herself before she said more.
“No, it’s not, as you just realized,” Nightstriker said. “I haven’t formed the genealogical trees of these early superhumans, and if I haven’t done so, I doubt your department or whatever other top-secret government agency is working on this has done much better.”
He turned back to Anna and spoke in a gentle, confiding tone. “How do you know this, Anna? What evidence do you have that Miasma was a relative?”
“Stories,” Anna said, like the word was dangerous. “My family…is from the Deep South. Mississippi Delta. They are…well, I’ll just say it: they’re racist. They use…those words to describe people of color. So much hate and prejudice. Growing up, I always heard these tales about a superhuman named Miasma. He killed all those people like you said, centuries ago. My family thought it was a good thing – they always hoped one of the family had superhuman genes, so they would become the ‘new’ Miasma and clean up what they called this ‘stupid melting pot’ of a country. I didn’t think the stories were true, because there no evidence – no heirlooms, not even a letter written by him, and when I tried to look all this up, I couldn’t find anything….”
“Sounds similar to my family,” Buckshot said. When everyone shot him harsh glances, he held out his arms innocently. “What? I’m just trying to commiserate with the poor girl.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Anna,” Nightstriker said, ignoring Buckshot, “but I don’t think you’re like your family at all. I can hear guilt in your voice – and, if you know anything about the original Miasma’s powers, you know you could’ve killed us all easily during that battle. But you didn’t. Perhaps you’re only untrained, but I believe you wouldn’t have done so even if you had full control over your powers.”
“No, I…I’m not like them,” Anna said. “I had to get away, so as soon as I was eighteen, I came here to Z City. I wanted to make the world a better place; I didn’t want people like my family to win. But no one seemed to care – the government is corrupt, and the average person only cares about reality TV. But the Giftgiver…he cared….”
“And he made you the new Miasma,” Nightstriker said, “though you didn’t want those powers, did you? You wanted to be something different, but those old family stories were at the forefront of your mind.”
“Yes…they were,” Anna said. Were she in human form, she likely would’ve been crying. In her smoke form, she was drifting downward, as if the weight of her conscience was too much of a burden. “I didn’t want this! I didn’t want this at all! I wanted to be…useful, somehow. But all I can do now is suffocate people, like I tried to do with Blaze.”
“Those abilities are quite useful to the Giftgiver, actually,” Nightstriker said.
“He thinks they are,” Anna said, “but he doesn’t know, not really. He’d never heard of Miasma. When I tried to talk to him, it was like…well, I’m just another foot soldier. I believe in his mission, but he doesn’t…he doesn’t know what you know….”
Nightstriker waited, and he stared at his teammates, making it obvious that they shouldn’t bombard Anna with questions or accusations. This was a critical moment – if they faltered, perhaps their best shot at defeating the Giftgiver would be gone.
Thankfully, everyone understood that Nightstriker was in the driver’s seat, even Gillespie. She was smiling, but Nightstriker saw she was as rigid as Anna’s containment cylinder.
“Anna, I don’t deny that much of what the Giftgiver says is true,” Nightstriker said, “but to hand out superpowers to anyone who promises to join his cause?
That’s a recipe for disaster. He’s inspired an impressive loyalty so far, but how long do you think that will last, especially when the inevitable failures crop up, as they’ve already done? He has no training program for new superhumans such as yourself, no committees to handle communication, resource procurement, grievances, or anything else. He has the force of his personality, and an endless sea of disenchanted young people to convert. If he unleashes his entire army on Z City, there will be chaos.”
“I…I don’t know about that,” Anna said. “You’re smart, like I said…but you’ve got me locked up, and you’ve done nothing to help the downtrodden, have you? I know you’re trying to get me to betray him, but I was poor and hopeless before I met him – just another country girl who’d failed at the big city dream. What have you ever done for me?”
“I’m trying to help you now,” Nightstriker said. “I can train you, get your powers under control. For example, you can’t even change back into your human form, can you? Your smoke has taken on human shapes while we’ve been watching, but you haven’t transformed. In fact, it’s a small miracle you can even talk.”
Anna again formed into a roughly humanoid figure, before again breaking apart. “No…I can’t turn back.”
“And you want to change the world, but you fear becoming another Miasma,” Nightstriker went on. “You have the ability to expand your form until you’re a cloud bank hundreds of yards long, simply by absorbing the atmosphere, and you can be as toxic as carbon monoxide, or as harmless as water vapor. But without proper training, you will float around as you are now, never able to return to human form, never knowing when you’ll kill someone inadvertently.”
“I can learn these things on my own!” Anna shouted. “I don’t need you or the Giftgiver! These mind games won’t work on me, Nightstriker!”
“No games, Anna,” Nightstriker said. “Just facts. If you want a clear-cut offer, I’ll give you one: if you help us defeat the Giftgiver, I promise I will free you, and then train you, and any crimes you’ve committed in the course of your time with the Giftgiver will be absolved. You will be accepted into the superhero community, or if you don’t desire that lifestyle, you can live as a civilian anywhere in the world. If you choose that path, I will make sure someone is watching over you, just in case a misguided superhuman considers a reprisal for your role in all this.”
They all waited, watching the smoke swirl. Since Anna’s body language and facial expressions were nonexistent, they could only try to discern what she was thinking by studying the smoke’s movement. Even Nightstriker now found it difficult to read Anna’s thought process. He only hoped she was carefully considering his proposal, and not letting rage and frustration control her.
“Excuse me,” Metal Gal said, stepping forward, “but I’d like to say a few words to Anna.”
Nightstriker frowned, and was about to rebuke Gal, but then he nodded as he remembered her own terrible origin story. Perhaps hearing about Metal Gal’s life would convince Anna that her difficulties weren’t unique.
“You see this metallic form, Anna?” Metal Gal said, spinning around so Anna could see her body from every angle. “This isn’t a high-tech suit I take on and off, or some transformation I undergo. This is me – I’m Metal Gal, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be a normal flesh-and-blood human again. I could try to transfer my mind back to a ‘real’ body, but after what happened last time…well, I’m not exactly in a rush.”
“I’m…sorry about that,” Anna said softly, “but we’re not the same. You still look like a human. And I’ve watched you fight. You can change shape, shoot energy beams, even fly. You have complete control over your form––”
“I do now,” Metal Gal responded, “but when I first turned into…this thing, I had zero control over my body. I was, literally, a puddle for two months. I nearly went mad before I figured out how to alter my state and take on the form you see now. My partner, a sweet, intelligent man named Keith, wasn’t so lucky. He was also in a puddle-form for two months, and it did drive him mad – and when he finally got control over himself, he committed suicide.”
Buckshot and Slab looked at Metal Gal in shock. Blaze, however, only looked sorrowful and sympathetic. So they’d confided in each other, perhaps last night….
“A puddle?” Anna said. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am,” Metal Gal said. “You’re stuck in your smoke form, but you can still move around and talk. I couldn’t do anything. Maybe if I was one of those monks who’re used to solitude, I would’ve emerged without any…mental issues. But I’m a scientist, used to absorbing large quantities of information. It was…it was….”
She trailed off, and now she fell into Blaze’s arms, sobbing. Again, Buckshot and Slab eyed them curiously as Blaze stroked her back and whispered comforting words into her ears. Even Gillespie seemed surprised at what was obviously a budding relationship.
“Uh, I’d like to speak to Anna, too,” Slab said, tearing his eyes away from the young lovers. He held out his mammoth arms and pointed at his rocky body. “You see this? Like Metal Gal said, this is me. I can’t transform back into a normal person. Yeah, I’m strong, and nothing much hurts me, but there are downsides to all this, too. For one, even though my innards are rock too, they still work like normal innards, and I need to eat like twenty thousand calories a day. People treat me differently, too; they think the big rock guy is just the dumb muscle. And since I didn’t even finish high school, they’re sorta right. That’s why I’ve been trying to study more. Oh, and grime and moss sometimes gets in my cracks, which is really irritating. I sometimes take showers inside car washes, but it doesn’t always get me clean.”
Anna laughed, and her form whipped around like it was a flag caught in a stiff breeze.
“What’s so funny?” Slab said, forming his hands into fists.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Anna said, “but picturing you standing in a car wash is hilarious.”
“Hey now,” Slab said, lumbering towards the containment cylinder, “I’m not gonna put up with any––”
“Calm down, Slab,” Nightstriker said, putting himself between Anna and Slab. “Anna is just having a bit of fun – aren’t you, Anna?”
“I’m sorry!” Anna shouted. “I should’ve kept those thoughts to myself. I understand why you’d be sensitive. We have some big dudes in our group, and they get treated like you do – especially if they look…differently. It’s not fair.”
Slab was still growling, which sounded like a busy workday at a rock quarry. After a few seconds, though, he stepped back a few paces.
“Apology accepted,” he said.
“Very mature, the both of you,” Nightstriker said, nodding. “Do you see now, Anna? The Giftgiver has cast us as perfect heroes lording over the entire world. We’re far from perfect, and we have no desire for domination. We––”
“You’re perfect,” Anna said, “or close enough to it. I can understand Metal Gal’s and Slab’s issues – and the fire guy there probably has trouble controlling his powers, and the redneck guy looks like an alcoholic – but what about you, Nightstriker? Can you tell me with a straight face that you have problems, too, and that you can commiserate with me?”
“Yes,” Nightstriker said firmly. “Like most people, you know the legend of Nightstriker, and very little about the man himself. That’s how I want it – a man is easy to defeat, a legend not so much. And on my own, it’s true that I’m extremely dangerous – the most dangerous man in the world, as the media often says. But as leader of the Elites, I’ve learned that I have far more limitations than I suspected. I performed abysmally as leader at first, alienating all of my teammates and handicapping our efforts at defeating the Giftgiver. Only after my team stood up to me did I consider a different course of action. But it hasn’t been easy – I’m obstinate and ferociously driven, and while that’s served me well as a solo superhero, a leader cannot expect those under him to be carbon copies of himself. So you see, Anna, we’v
e all failed at some point, and we’ve all encountered difficulty.”
After a long, meditative pause, Anna spoke: “I understand where you’re coming from, really, but you’re still you, while the Giftgiver really does want to change things. Yeah, he has flaws, but––”
“He does indeed have flaws, and those flaws far exceed his virtues,” Nightstriker said. “If he had used his power in a responsible manner, I would have had no quarrel with him. But he hasn’t even taken the time to prepare others for when he lays hands on them. With meditation, I expect a would-be superhuman could focus on a particular power, and the Giftgiver’s ability would fixate on that, instead of this random nonsense we currently have to deal with. But he’s impatient, unschooled in the intricacies of superhumans, and, as I’ve stated, a poor leader and organizer.”
“He’s been fairly successful so far,” Anna said. “He captured you, didn’t he? And his army grows by the day.”
“He has numbers, no question about it,” Nightstriker said, “and we have performed poorly on several occasions. But don’t mistake a few battles for the war. That’s one of the classic follies of rogue superhumans: a few victories fill them with confidence, and they forge ahead as if they’re unstoppable, and then suddenly they’re defeated and sitting in MegaMax Prison.”
“If you’re so certain of victory,” Anna said, “why are you here trying to get me to help you?”
“Because with your aid, we can win swiftly and decisively,” Nightstriker said. “The other superhumans we’ve captured have useful powers, but none so potent as yours. You’re easily a Class S superhuman, Anna.”
“A Class S?” Anna whispered. “I knew Miasma was powerful, and I…really, a Class S?”
“Yes, without a doubt,” Nightstriker said. “Now, have our words and my offer persuaded you, Anna? You claim to want to fight for a cause. At the moment, there is no greater cause than stopping the Giftgiver. Will you––”
